


Dichotomy

by SeraphJewel



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-01 16:48:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10925967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeraphJewel/pseuds/SeraphJewel
Summary: This is an alternate universe role reversal that explores how much things can change, and how much can stay the same.





	1. Die Job

_Disclaimer: Special thanks to welcometoteamz on tumblr for the idea and the blessing to run with it. As usual, I don't own any of the characters._

 

She squinted at the dingy mirror as she passed her fingers through her hair. It started out as one section, and could've been passed off as a fashionable streak, except the rest quickly followed. Now she couldn't find a single strand of brown left on her head. Not even at the roots. Replacing it was a white-blonde that not even the best salons could've reproduced. That change alone she could handle; she _did_ always wonder what she would look like as a blonde.

What she never really wondered about, on the other hand, is what she would look like if the pigment of her skin was dialed back. Sure she lived in Washington state, but she did not aspire to look like she could star in a _Twilight_ film. She swept hair away from her face and leaned in closer. At least her eyes hadn't retained the fierce red hue that clouded them back at the party.

The door swung open and another woman walked in, tottering unsteadily on her heels. It was an unwelcome interruption, though it was a public restroom. She turned on the water to splash it on her face. The other woman stumbled against the sinks, the pale blonde gritting her teeth and mentally willing for there to not be any vomit about to come out. She was already feeling cranky. The other woman groaned but thankfully didn't vomit. Instead she did something arguably worse: she turned her attention on the pale blonde.

"Oh, sweetie, haven't you ever heard of a tanning salon? Or walking out during the day at all? You look like death."

Slowly she turned, her hair dropping in front of her face like an onryō. "So do you," she rasped out, grabbing the woman by the back of her neck and slamming her head against the sink's edge. The woman barely had time to scream.

Her assailant carefully stepped around the crumpled body and slid her arms under the woman's armpits, pulling her into one of the empty stalls. It took some maneuvering, but she managed to shift the body into a good position and took off one of the woman's shoes. She hated wasting nice heels, but they wouldn't fit her anyway. She jabbed until she got the hole big enough for her fingers to go in and claim her prize: fresh human brains.

Within a few chews and swallows she was feeling like herself again: Peyton Charles.

Eating brains was probably the worst part of this situation so far. Peyton thought she reached a culinary low point during her ramen noodle diet back in college, but this was far worse. But no matter how much her taste buds protested, her stomach welcomed it every time.

She finished her meal and left whatever was left of the brains on the toilet seat. Hopefully the person who stumbled on this would assume the brains were flushed down the toilet or something. Peyton made sure to leave the stall without touching anything and quickly wiped down any fingerprints she left behind on the sink's faucet. One last sweep of the room to be sure she didn't leave a bloody footprint or anything else to link her here, then she was out the door.

Now that her thoughts were clear again, Peyton could go through what happened to her over the past forty-eight hours. Some moments were clearer in her mind than others. For example, she remembered getting on the boat at Lake Washington before the party started to scope out good selling locations. She chugged down a can of Max Rager and, a little later, broke a rule of drug dealing by sampling her own product. How could she sell a product if her customers couldn't see how well it worked?

After that, things got a little more jumbled. She remembered her eyes going red and her grabbing someone by the arm. Her fingers dug deep enough in the skin to tear. She threw whoever-it-was against the ship's railing, sending them tumbling into the ocean. The first death she caused by her own hands. Probably. She didn't actually bother to check what happened to that person after they fell off the boat.

Drowning was probably the least violent way anyone died at that boat party.

Peyton wasn't sure how she got off the boat. Maybe she jumped to the dock? The hunger had started to make her lose her sense of self at that point. This drunk woman in the public restroom was the first decent meal she found since the craving for brains began.

And now the brains of a drunk woman in a bathroom were considered a "decent meal". How pathetic. She could do better.

First she would need to find a change of clothes and burn the outfit she was currently wearing. She really liked this outfit, too, but it couldn't be helped: it was stained with that dead woman's blood. Until Peyton found a less messy way of getting brains, she would need to start wearing dark colors. Dark clothes and pale skin... ugh. Another item on her to-do list was to fix her skin before someone asked if she took the red pill.

Peyton went into a thrift store. Their security would be lax and the staff wouldn't be paying close attention to her. She grabbed a few outfits before going into the changing room. There was already an abandoned outfit inside, which she was more than happy to use as her substitute when she was done. A stop at a different store for a lighter, then finding a full trashcan for her bloody clothes and burning it all at once.

The flames reminded her of the fire at the boat party, and thinking of that gave Peyton one comforting thought in all this mess: they would all think she died. There were bound to be victims too severely burned for identification. She had ditched her ID in the water, so any one of those bodies could be her without anyone being the wiser. She was _dead_. The thought gave her a sense of freedom she hadn't felt in years.

The dead had no fear because they had nothing else to lose. Peyton was standing in an alley watching her clothes burn after she ate a dead woman's brain in a bathroom stall. She could only go up from here.

And she knew exactly where to start.


	2. See, No Evil

His fingers slid up his cheeks, rubbing at his tired eyes. He could feel the headache pressing against his forehead, an accumulation of all the hours he logged in at work the past few weeks. He felt a measure of pride in knowing his brain could take the huge information dump and keep working. More than that was the excitement in what all of this work was building up to: his first murder case. Ever since being hired, he worked damn hard to prove himself capable. A petty theft here, an assault there, convincing the defendant to accept his deal. Every success nudged his boss a little closer to giving him this important assignment.

He could practically see the witness testimonies now, could imagine the evidence spread out on his desk. He trembled in his seat as the thought overwhelmed him.

A wheezing breath pulled him back to his surroundings. The room was painted in warm colors with plants by the window adding a splash of green. He checked them when he first entered the room and caught a hint of blossoms sprouting. It would be another week or so before a full bloom. Of course, he didn't have any naïve notions that the room's occupant would ever see or get to enjoy the blooming flowers. Much like they would never celebrate his success with more than a grunt.

The scratch of a gramophone's needle alerted him. "I let the music stop," he realized, getting to his feet. "Sorry about that. My mind isn't all here today." He pushed the needle back onto the record, Brahms's piano concerto picking up where it left off. His companion let out a sigh of contentment. "Much better, I know," he agreed.

There was a knock at the door and a young lady in scrubs poked her head inside. "Excuse me, Mister DeBeers, but it's time for Mister McDonough's bath."

"So it is," Blaine agreed. He felt a pang of regret at letting time slip away from him like that. He took the needle off the record again, turning off the gramophone and slipping the record back in its sleeve. "I won't be able to come in tomorrow," he mentioned. Blaine spoke to the gramophone so he wouldn't have to watch the orderlies struggle with his unresponsive grandfather.

It took Blaine years to grow accustomed to the blank stare, the immobile limbs, the endless task of shifting the man so he wouldn't develop bed sores, learning to interpret the breaths and noises. But other people moving his grandfather was too much.

"I'll call on my lunch break to see how he's doing," he went on. He slipped out of the room before they wheeled his grandfather away. Blaine made the mistake of looking at the empty bed once, and hadn't been able to get the image or the pain it brought out of his mind for days.

This facility was the best his salary could afford, and even that was stretching it a little. He would probably be paying off his school loans until the day he died, but it was worth it for this. His grandfather had a private room, caring attendants who worked hard to make the man as comfortable and healthy as possible, and the best medical assistance in Seattle. Every now and then someone would pull him aside and tell him that there was still no change in his grandfather's condition, that there would likely never _be_ any change.

Except none of them had any idea that the young assistant district attorney was related to the shell of a man. On the day he admitted his grandfather to the facility, he told them that Mister McDonough was a vital piece in an open case the police were working on. The details were confidential but as long as Mister McDonough was alive, the police could continue their investigations. The staff was thrilled they were trusted with something so important, and it being confidential thrilled them. No doubt they spent their breaks trying to theorize on what it could be and why Mister McDonough was so important.

If that's what it took to motivate them into keeping his grandfather safe, Blaine didn't care. He didn't even feel that guilty about lying to them. It was part of his job to present a story to people that would feed on their desire to make a difference, to make the world better, to feel good about themselves.

Blaine called his office phone so he could listen to messages while riding the bus back to the office. None of them were overly pressing: a few from defense attorneys wanting to set up meetings so he could hand over evidence on cases they were working, one from his boss about some paperwork that needed to be filed by the end of the week, and one from the medical examiner's office informing him their autopsy report was ready for his review.

As much as he hated leaving his grandfather, Blaine felt a spike of excitement as he set back to work. From the moment he qualified for law school he was working his ass off, achieving every high goal he set. Study for those tests, pass the bar, be hired into the district attorney's office, be trusted with more serious cases, and now this murder charge needed the right lawyer to take it before the court. Blaine knew he was the right lawyer for the job. He would show everyone he could handle this. For his grandfather. For himself.


	3. No Free Lunches

There was a saying about not being late to one's own funeral, but in this case Peyton figured it was better to skip it entirely. Anyone in her social circle wouldn't waste their time in mourning, anyway. Hell, they were probably _glad_ she was gone. It meant all her territories were handed off to someone else. Someone more compliant, less ambitious. She hoped they enjoyed it while they could.

Food was her primary concern. As much fun as it sounded to tap into her inner She-Hulk, the lack of control wasn't something she could afford. Nor could she afford the slow mental degrade that progressed every day she went without eating. Luckily, this town was full of people who wouldn't be missed. Peyton was undead proof of that.

Once her own food situation was solved, Peyton thought it prudent to learn who else was having similar issues. Her vague memories told her she wasn't the only one with new cravings, and unless every single one of them was as clever and careful as her-- which she seriously doubted-- they would make themselves known sooner or later. Peyton needed to be there when that happened so she could control it.

Which was what brought her to a cemetery in the dead of night. She grudgingly gave the guy props for picking a grave in the far corner of the plot, obstructed by an overdone memorial someone thought their dead loved one needed. Peyton waited until the guy had dug up a good part of the grave.

"Where's Igor?" she asked, stepping forward. The guy froze; Peyton could tell from the dark circles under his eyes and the way he struggled with every movement that it'd been a very long time since his last meal.

"You... you need to get out of here, lady." Even his words were sluggish. He sure was cutting it close. Peyton was hoping for this: the desperate types were always the easiest.

"Maybe you ought to eat a Snickers and try that threat again." She waited for his brain to register what she sensed much sooner: they were both zombies. His eyes widened in shock when it finally clicked. Smirking, Peyton crouched down so she was more at eye level with the man. Pale skin and white-blonde hair like her.

She would be waiting all night for his shock to wear off, so she skipped right to the point. "I have an easier way to get what you need. You interested?"

"Yes," he rasped out. "Yes, thank you."

"Let's get you out of here." Peyton helped him cover the hole so the grave looked more or less undisturbed. The guy babbled the whole way, thanking her over and over and saying how he was so glad he wasn't the only one, blah blah blah.

The brains were in a simple Tupperware container. Nothing fancy, but that would come with time. "This is my personal supply," she mentioned as she handed it over. This was a complete lie, but a little guilt with gratitude never hurt. "It's all I can spare for now, so you should--" She cut off as the man ripped off the lid and stuffed the small piece in his mouth. "Take your time," Peyton finished with a sigh.

That was what she was hoping he would do. Give them a taste, just enough to get them by but not enough to fully satisfy. The way he scraped the corners of the container proved Peyton succeeded. When the guy couldn't lick any more brain juice out of the container, he meekly handed it back.

"I'm sorry, I... I was just so hungry. I don't know how much longer I could've lasted." He was still staring at the empty container, like he was hoping more brains would magically appear.

"I could get you more," Peyton mentioned. That immediately got his attention. "But I'm sure you can personally attest to how difficult it is procuring human brains. Nobody likes digging up graves."

"Please help me." He trembled in desperation. "Please. I could pay you!" He dug out his wallet and pulled out every dollar, thrusting it into her hands. "This is all I have right now." Peyton flipped through the bills, counting a few twenties.

Every business had to start somewhere.

"Okay," she said, pocketing the money. "I may be able to find something by tomorrow night." Another lie, but it would give her time to find a few more customers and a better location for transactions. She had enough of dark alleys when her product was drugs.

The guy thanked her a few more times before dismissing himself. Peyton thumbed through the bills one more time. Most of those at the boat party were college kids. No way would they have more than just petty cash. If she really wanted this business to succeed, she needed to aim her sights a lot higher.

Peyton's eyes fell on her nails. Well, why not? She _was_ a zombie.


	4. Doctor Moore, I Presume

The first thing Blaine noticed before even going inside the police morgue was its complete lack of security. He didn't need to show identification or even explain why he was there. A little peculiar, but he supposed that was just how they preferred to run things down there. He let himself in and headed down the stairs. He could hear some noise in the break room and headed in that direction. One section of the morgue was dedicated to a lab, and for some reason they had a pet rat. He was a dog person, but to each their own.

In the break room he found both medical examiners watching a black-and-white movie. They were too engrossed to notice him at first so Blaine leaned against the door frame to watch with them. 

"Personally, I like _Shaun of the Dead_ ," he mentioned. The two examiners whipped their heads around to face him. "Don't get me wrong," Blaine continued. "Romero's movies are classic, but the social commentary and humor really made _Shaun_ the more entertaining film. Though if we're talking about the scariest depiction of zombies, I'd have to go with Naughty Dog's version. That Clicker sound haunted my nightmares for days."

His comment must've been enough out of left field for them to gather themselves together. Blaine knew Doctor Ravi Chakrabarti a little from the times he was used as expert testimony, but the other medical examiner was a new face. He knew as much, since she was the reason for his visit. Blaine liked being well-acquainted with everyone he worked with, and this woman in particular caught his interest because of her partnership with homicide detective Clive Babineaux.

Blaine gave her a discreet once-over and a polite smile. She was pretty, her skin oddly pale and her hair white-blonde. Clearly, she spent far too much time in this place.

"Sorry, we haven't been introduced," he said, holding out his hand. "Blaine Debeers, assistant district attorney."

"Olivia Moore." The two of them shook hands. Blaine noted hers were cold, though he wasn't sure if that was a typical doctor thing or a product of working in a morgue.

"A pleasure, Miss Moore. I've read your name on a few recent police reports. I hope you realize you're taking all the fun out of prosecuting murderers."

"Sorry," she retorted dryly. "Next time I'll make your job less easy."

"I'd appreciate it," he answered with an amused flick of his lip. He could already tell he was going to enjoy working with this woman. "What's with the rat?" he added. Doctor Chakrabarti exchanged looks with Miss Moore, both of them looking a bit awkward.

"Oh, you know," Chakrabarti said. "We are scientists at heart, and every good scientist needs a few lab rats."

"I'm going to find you both dates for Friday night," Blaine decided. "Don't have too much fun down here." He dismissed himself with a wave and headed back outside.

\------

The survivors of the boat party massacre had helpfully banded together in a virtual community, updating each other on how they were doing and offering post-trauma support. None of them posted anything that screamed "zombie" just yet, but Peyton was keeping an eye out just in case.

Lucky she was, too, or she would've missed the sketch of her floating around the group. It was a typical "have you seen this person" post that popped up now and then, except this was from someone she never met. That could be a problem. 

Peyton found the morgue occupied by a short woman, her back to Peyton as she cleaned off the autopsy table. On hearing her approach, the other woman turned and gave a jerk of surprise. Peyton was surprised, too: she _did_ know this person. She remembered grabbing this woman's arm and tossing her off the boat during the massacre.

"Hi," she greeted. "I understand you were looking for me." She pulled out the sketch she printed up. "Did you draw this? I think you're in the wrong profession."

"Um, right. Hello. I'm Olivia Moore." Peyton somehow managed to hold back the snort. Seriously? Liv Moore? "I thought I was the only one," Liv continued, "but then I had a vision of you chasing down some guy. You were full-on zombie mode."

"I was what?"

"Full-on zombie mode," Liv repeated. "You know, when your eyes go red and you get super strong?"

"Right. I didn't know there was a name for it. You must've been a zombie for a long time." Of course Peyton knew what happened, but she wanted to find out how much the other woman remembered.

"No." Liv gave her an analyzing look. "I turned into one at the boat party. Don't you remember? You grabbed me and scratched my forearm after trying to sell me utopium." Great, so she remembered _everything_. And if she was as self-righteous about everything else as she was with the utopium, she was going to be a pain in the ass.

"Oh, my god, I..." Peyton took in a shaky breath, letting a tremor go through her body. "I was so high that night. And then my eyes went red. What did you call it, 'full-on zombie mode'? I couldn't control myself. I am so sorry." She swiped at her eyes, though of course there were no tears. "You must hate me. You probably don't even want to help me with brains."

"No, I do," Liv assured her. "It's just... this is a police morgue. I can't just hand over brains to you. I'll bring them out to you another way." She hesitated for a moment before adding: "My boss knows that I'm a zombie. He's studying our condition right now. If you don't mind sticking around for a while, he could take some samples. The more he knows about this, the easier time he'll have developing a cure."

"A cure?" Well, now. This got more and more interesting. "That would be amazing. I'm really glad I met you, Olivia Moore."

It was the first completely true thing she said all day.


	5. Isolated Pawn

Peyton couldn't help dancing along to the music as she blended up her morning brains. For being undead, things were going very well for her. She was getting a steady stream of business from her zombie and human clients, her skin was back to a more natural glow thanks to diligent spray tanning, and she finally tracked down the one who messed with the utopium sold at the boat party. That last one had been extra tricky, but it would have the biggest pay-off.

"Either you just ate dancer brain, or you're in a good mood." She turned at the voice, responding with a simple shrug. Jack was handsome enough and fairly decent in bed, but his real value came in his fantastic condo and assistants paid so much they would never ask questions. "What's with the socks?" he added, nodding down to her feet.

Peyton's eyes drifted down to where four pairs of socks were currently covering her feet. "My feet get cold," she responded flatly, walking away so she could get dressed.

She wasn't sure yet what she would do if Jack ever outlived his usefulness. She loved those deep-tissue massages and the huge pool. Then again, it wasn't like she hadn't buckled down and slept behind Dumpsters or under bridges. Maybe she could just use her office at Meat Cute; she was there so often, the others would just think she was a workaholic. A problem for another day. Today she needed to focus on her meeting.

The ID she flashed the receptionist was perfect. She knew it would be; she used the same guy when she needed to pass herself off as twenty-one. Peyton signed herself in as Jane Deaux and followed one of the orderlies into the main room.

It was actually a very nice place. Very open, lots of windows to let in natural light. A few of the patients gave her curious looks. There was only one she cared about, though, and the minute he saw her his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He still hadn't fully recovered by the time she crossed the room.

"This is new," he said at last. "I never thought I'd be hallucinating _you_."

"Strange times," she agreed. "You're looking well, Scott E. Am I your first visitor?"

"Nah." He gestured for her to sit. "My brother came by a few days after I checked myself in. Boss sent one of his guys, too. Or maybe I just thought he did. Sometimes it's hard to tell what's real. You are definitely _not_ real. You died at the boat party."

"Pretty much." This was even better than she could have hoped. When Peyton heard Scott E checked himself into a mental health facility, she figured he was just dealing with the trauma of the boat party. For him to have an actual mental breakdown was pretty damn fortuitous.

"I'm guessing Boss's guys wanted the money from the boat party," she mused. Scott E confirmed this with a nod. "That was a pretty crazy night. Between you and me, I got a little high off the utopium we were supposed to sell."

"Wish _I_ did," Scott E lamented. "But I was sober, Peyton. I saw those red eyes, the way they tore into people." Peyton managed to keep her adrenaline from spiking. This wasn't what she expected from their conversation. Scott E leaned forward, a manic glint in his eyes. "I saw zombies, Peyton. And not just saw them: I got one of them on film. It's on my phone at my apartment."

Peyton allowed that information to sink in. A mentally unbalanced person claiming to see zombies was one thing. Visual proof was another, one she needed to take care of soon. Not too soon, of course. She would give it a few days.

Something about her expression amused Scott E. "I never could read your poker face," he joked. Peyton responded with an eye roll, though she couldn't help looking a little amused.

"So about the utopium." She needed to get this conversation back on track. "It was good stuff, but it seemed like there was something a little off about it."

"Don and I cut it," Scott E explained. "Make twice as much product."

"Smart." And exactly what she needed to hear. Of course she still had the problem of competition, but once she had a comfortable money cushion with her brain business, she would go after Boss. 

Hopefully Liv and her earnest doctor friend would take their sweet time figuring out a cure. There was no hope they would give up, but the longer they took, the more Peyton's empire could grow.


	6. Loss

Blaine thought he was being punked when he heard Lowell Tracey was at the police station. He went to check it out against his better judgment, and sure enough the musician was exiting the interrogation room. Despite the location, it was a thrill seeing an artist he enjoyed in the flesh. The last time had been when he sneaked into a Nirvana concert. It didn't seem real, but Blaine didn't have the time to recover from his shock. If he didn't act quickly, Lowell would walk right out the door.

"Excuse me. Are you Lowell Tracey?" Lowell responded with a thin-lipped smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. "Sorry if this is a bad time, I just... I'm a big fan of your music," Blaine said. "Is there any chance you'll be playing a gig while you're in town?"

"Sorry, mate," Lowell shrugged, looking genuinely upset, "but I don't play in front of an audience anymore."

"Oh. Okay. Um... well, it was nice meeting you, anyway." Lowell continued on, but seemed to have a second thought and turned back.

"Tell you what: I'll send you a signed copy of my latest album. What's your name?"

"Blaine DeBeers. And I appreciate that, thank you." The two men shook hands. Blaine was still a little stunned from the encounter when he spotted Liv coming out of the interrogation room. "Hey, Liv!" He waved her over. "What was Lowell Tracey doing here?"

"We're questioning him on a murder case," she explained. She tilted her head, frowning. "How do you know him?" Blaine laughed, but Liv's expression suggested she was serious.

"You really need to get out more, sister. He's an up-and-coming recording artist. He's got a great sound... And he promised me a signed copy of his latest album." She didn't look impressed. Sometimes Blaine had to wonder if this woman was half dead. He let the subject go for the moment, focusing back on what he wanted to ask her. "So he's not an actual suspect in the murder case, is he?"

"We're still investigating." She was quiet for a moment, then added: "So are you pretty familiar with him?"

"Mostly with his music. I know he's under contract with Max Rager. The company can get pretty intense, so be careful where you poke around when you investigate." While he didn't want to believe that Max Rager would stoop to murder in order to cover their asses, Blaine also had to admit it wouldn't surprise him if they did.

Liv thanked him for the warning and promised she would be careful. Blaine was glad; he liked to think they were friends, a rarity in his life. 

That was why, a few weeks later, he rushed back to the police station. He heard Liv was there being questioned. It had to be wrong. Sure Liv could be aggressive and fierce, but her sense of justice was too strong for her to do anything illegal. One glimpse at her through the glass showed him a devastated Liv, her body trembling and her face even more pale than usual. Something about her shell-shocked expression sent dread sinking down into Blaine's stomach. Ravi was hovering nearby; his own grave expression didn't promise good news.

Still, Blaine had to ask. "What's going on?"

"She..." Ravi took in a deep breath and started over. "She found her boyfriend's body. He shot himself."

Blaine knew the words were coming, but it still hurt to hear them. That was why Liv's expression was so familiar: Blaine had worn it for days after he discovered his mother's body. He would never wish that kind of devastation on anyone. Liv finally emerged, her eyes passing silently between Ravi and Blaine. It was probably taking all of her strength to keep from breaking apart.

Blaine knew from experience that saying something like "I'm sorry for your loss" would be meaningless. He tried to think of what would'v helped had someone said it to him back them. "Ravi and I are here if you need us, Liv," he said at last. Liv's eyes flickered as she focused on them. She gave a nod of gratitude.

Sometimes simply knowing you weren't alone was enough. Blaine had a sense that was something he and Liv understood very well.


	7. Major Issues

If Peyton ever came across that Murphy guy, she would strangle him. She thought it was the luckiest accident when she learned she scratched a medical examiner. What better person to cover up any deaths that would crop up, after all. But no, Liv was practically Disney with her goodness.

And that was just the start of Peyton's problems.

Thanks to Jack, the police stuck their noses in her business. Apparently having a zombie on the police force wasn't as beneficial as she expected. She took care of Jack and hopefully turned the detective's suspicions away, but the damage was still done: she had appeared on the police's radar, a place she had hoped to avoid.

Scott E went up and died before he could tell Peyton what he and his brother used when they cut the utopium. As Don E was a little more of an unknown element at the moment, she had to be careful when she sought out information from him. Just to be safe, she would wait until she was sure the police weren't interested in her.

And now the latest and most painful to her wallet: her useless employees lost some high-price brains. The guy was lucky all she did was stab him.

"Boss, I have good news." She turned at the voice. It belonged to Julian, one of the few competent people working under her. "You know that guy who's been giving us trouble lately?" Peyton searched around in her memory. There _was_ a guy who'd been a consistent thorn in her side for a while now. Like the world's most annoying boomerang: no matter how far she threw him, he kept coming back.

"I have him in the freezer," Julian announced. "He already broke into my car once; I would bet you anything he's the one who stole our brains."

"That _is_ good news," Peyton agreed. She followed Julian to their walk-in freezer. The man bound and gagged inside was the same one who posed as a health inspector. Casing the place, Peyton now realized, and she wasn't sure if she was impressed by his tactical skills or amused that he failed at being covert about it.

Peyton approached him, taking a corner of the duct tape and ripping it off in one go. He cried out in pain. "Oh, relax," she chided him. "You know what they say: it's better to get it over quickly. And I suggest you take that saying and put it into practice by telling me what you did with the brains you stole."

He pressed his lips together in a stubborn line, breathing hard through his nostrils. Peyton wished she had a red cape so she could see if he would charge.

"Clearly you need more time to cool off," Peyton decided. "Let me know when you're feeling more talkative." 

She would get that guy to talk one way or another. He might not value his own life, but surely there was someone else out there. If she could figure out his Lois Lane, maybe that would be enough to crack him.

Peyton didn't believe in karma or fate, nor was she a very big gambler. She learned early on in her life that if she wanted something to change, she had to be the one to make it. Kicked out of her house? Find someone who wanted no strings willing to give her a bed. No money? Find a way to make some. Things not going her way? Adjust, move forward and don't panic.

Sometimes things went her way without her doing anything at all.

The would-be zombie slayer was thoughtful enough to bring along his cell phone. It started buzzing with a text message. Peyton picked it up and a smile broke out when she saw the name of the sender. That song might be annoying, but it was so true: it really was a small world, after all. She called the number.

"Doctor, doctor, give me some news," she sang once she heard Liv's voice answer.

"Where is he?" Getting right to the point; Peyton liked that about Liv. She felt like the two of them could've been friends in another life.

"I put him on ice. I'll be happy to return him as soon as you hand over my 'monkey brains'." There was silence for a moment on the other end.

"Okay," Liv responded at last. "Okay, I'll bring them. Just please don't hurt him."

"Come on, Liv. You can trust me." This was met with more silence. The two of them arranged when and where the exchange would take place before hanging up.

Peyton intended to be true to her word: she wouldn't hurt Liv's boyfriend. Not unless he gave her a very good reason to.


	8. Behind Red Eyes

On an impulse, Blaine went to check on Liv in the aftermath of her boyfriend's suicide. He knew the two of them weren't very close friends, but he also knew that having someone there to help him through his mother's death would've made a world of difference. She was, unsurprisingly, not in the mood to talk, but she _was_ in the mood for drinks. Blaine was more than happy to take her to his favorite bar and do a few shots with her.

It turned out his definition of a "few" didn't match up with Liv's. The way she continued to throw back shots would've impressed Marion Ravenwood. Blaine said nothing, allowing Liv to mourn in whatever way she needed. The bartender eventually cut her off and Blaine slid an arm under Liv's small frame to help her out the door.

"Thanks for coming with me," Liv slurred.

"Anytime you need a drinking buddy, just call." That got her smile to emerge. Blaine gave her a squeeze and rode with her back to her apartment building. He waited until she was safely inside before heading back to his own place.

It seemed stirring up those memories of his mother woke some old ghosts. Blaine got a call a few days later informing him Angus McDonough wished to speak with him. A part of him was tempted to ignore the message completely. He hadn't spoken with his father since he defied the man's expectations by dropping out of business school. Yet there was the concern that Angus somehow found out about Blaine's arrangements for his grandfather. Blaine reluctantly set up an appointment to drop by his father's office.

The place looked more or less the same as Blaine remembered. Nothing personal anywhere, as Blaine would expect from his father. Though in a way he was glad of that: it helped him separate this space between now and when it belonged to his grandfather. The secretary showed him inside but Blaine lingered near the door; he wanted a quick exit.

"Well, look at you," Angus sneered out as he leaned against his desk. "You almost look professional."

"What did you want?" Blaine kept his voice steady and his gaze on the older man even. "I have trials I need to prep."

"Yes, I've heard how you're rising through the ranks. Makes me wonder where all this ambition and drive came from, because you certainly never showed it before."

"Did you really call me here just to remind me what a disappointment I am as a son?" Blaine demanded through gritted teeth. "Because I think you covered it the last time I was here. Stop wasting my time." He turned to grab the door handle and leave.

"Oh, poor little boy," Angus taunted as he crossed the room. "Going off to pout like a spoiled little brat. Why don't you face me like a man?" He reached out and grabbed Blaine's shoulder.

Blaine reacted on instinct, swinging out with his other hand, curling it into a fist and connecting it to the side of Angus's jaw. "Don't _ever_ touch me again," he breathed out darkly.

Angus snarled back, his head lifting to reveal veins popping from his face and his eyes glowing strangely red. He charged but Blaine was faster, wrenching the door open and running out of the building.

Blaine was a block away before he stopped and allowed his mind to process what just happened. His hand still throbbed from striking his father's face, but he was more shaken by the red eyes. Blaine always thought Angus was evil, but to see physical proof of it was another thing entirely. The eyes haunted him all the way back to the office. What could happen to cause that?

He pulled himself together and went to the people he trusted enough to answer this question. First he checked on the lab rat. He couldn't understand why Ravi and Liv kept getting different rats: first a brown one, then a white, now another brown.

"Blaine?" Ravi's voice drew his attention. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Maybe. Do you know what can cause someone's eyes to turn red? I mean _completely_ red, including the irises." He could tell from the doctor's expression that Blaine just said something very troubling. Ravi cleared his throat and when he spoke, his voice was cautious and a bit troubled.

"Blaine, where exactly did you see someone with eyes like that?"

"On the street." While he did trust Ravi and Liv, Blaine had a feeling he didn't want them to know that whatever this was affected Blaine's father. "I was taking a shortcut to the office when I was attacked. I hit my assailant and when they turned to face me again, their eyes were red. It was like they were raging out or something."

Ravi looked definitely worried now. "Blaine, this is very important: did your attacker scratch you?"

"No. I ran away before they could attack again." Ravi's shoulders slumped in relief. Blaine hesitated, asking the question against his better judgment: "Why is that important?"

"It's..." Ravi ran his hand down his face and tried again. "The red eyes are a symptom of a highly contagious disease. You were extremely lucky: if your attacker scratched you, you would have been infected."

"Like a zombie?" The suggestion was treated like a joke but Ravi stared at him as if it was the opposite. "A zombie," Blaine repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I didn't get a good look, but he seemed pretty human except for the eyes."

"If they have a steady brain supply, zombies can blend in," Ravi agreed. "The red eyes happen when their adrenaline kicks up or they've gone a while without brains."

It sounded insane, but Ravi spoke with such assurance and authority. Could it be possible? After so many years of acting like a monster, had Angus actually become one? And he... what? Tried to eat his own son's brain? The horrifying thing was Blaine could believe it.

"It was just a random mugging," he dismissed. "But I'll be more careful in the future anyway. Thanks, Doc."

"Wait." Ravi gaped at him. "You mean you believe me about the zombies?"

"Brother," Blaine sighed, "I've been aware there are monsters in this world for a long time."


	9. Two Dead Girls

_That's it,_ Liv decided, struggling to keep her frustration to a minimum. _The world is officially a cruel and unfair place._ She knew she did the right thing by not taking the cure for herself. It was the only way she could stop Peyton from spreading the zombie virus any farther. Then there was Major, who Liv knew she couldn't force into this life. Liv knew these decisions were the right ones, that many of her decisions lately were right.

And though Liv didn't expect the universe to reward her for these actions, it would'v been nice if she could at least get a break.

"Did you come all this way just to see me?" Peyton's smile was so bright and warm it was hard to tell if it was real or not. She was the source of the most recent injustice. Liv thought-- hopefully, foolishly-- that being cured would force Peyton to hide away for a while. 

But no, here she was wearing a power suit with a skirt to show off her long legs. Her makeup was immaculate and she had chosen to keep her hair white-blonde. Liv thought of the first time they formally met, how even though Peyton dressed more casually that time, she was still gorgeous. She held herself so confidently, like not even being undead could bother her. Liv couldn't help but admire her then, and grudgingly she had the same feeling now.

Liv had warily hoped she and Peyton could be friends. For her to find another zombie, and for the zombie to be a woman her age... She wanted to believe that the infection at the boat party was an accident. Liv knew how it felt to go full-on zombie; control would be difficult, especially the first time.

Her hopes of having a zombie friend were quickly dashed when she learned how far Peyton would go to provide brains for zombies.

She lost the possibility of a friend, something she struggled with all her life because of her narrow focus on achievement; she lost the love of her life; she lost the trust and love of her family; she lost the chance to be human again. And here was Peyton: alive, successful, a tour-de-force.

"Do you work here now?" Liv questioned, managing to keep her voice even.

"You were the inspiration," Peyton answered. "I thought you would be pleased. I'm keeping the zombie population fed without hurting anybody. I'm legitimate now." She seemed honest, but then again she seemed that way the first time. Then Liv found out Peyton was killing runaway teenagers.

 _Fool me once,_ she thought to herself. Out loud, she said: "That's a relief to hear."

"And now that I'm changing my ways, maybe we can team up sometime," Peyton suggested. "We'd be a damn impressive force." The worst of that suggestion was that Liv felt the other woman was right: in another time and place, they _would_ be a great team.

"We'll see," she allowed at last. "Stay out of trouble." She left before Peyton could think of a reply.

Peyton waited for several minutes before leaving her office and heading down the stairs. She really should have used a funeral home from the start. Dead were never in short supply and it saved her the mess of killing them first. Her customers would miss the culinary skill of her dead chef, but she could off-set that by giving them a pick of brains. First come, first serve, of course. Maybe she could add an extra charge for the more desirable brains...

Liv found her a lot sooner than she would've liked, but as long as all she could see was a reputable funeral home, she would hopefully leave Peyton alone.

Peyton reached the bottom of the stairs. Her busy bees were working hard to get their supply ready for its first night on the town. Peyton picked up one of the tiny vials, pleased with its new design. She decided to call it "Beyond U" so everyone would know it was something better than the utopium currently being peddled. She dropped the vial back in with its fellows, a satisfied smile on her lips.

She wanted to beat Stacey Boss and, thanks to Beyond U, she could feel she was well on her way.


	10. Meet Jane Deaux

Blaine liked Liv Moore enough as a person, even considered her a good friend, but sometimes she could take all the thrill out of his job. Blaine loved everything about being a district attorney. From the moment a case first slid across his desk to the jury declaring "guilty", Blaine lived for it, knowing he was working his ass off to keep scumbags off the streets.

That part was still true. Detective Babineaux was closing many homicide cases thanks to Liv, leaving Blaine little more to do than try making a deal on the prison sentence. He would've been a little annoyed at the job downgrade, except he knew exactly how Liv caught these guys so easily.

Besides, Liv's work gave him the free time to focus on other things. He couldn't do anything about his father until Ravi developed more of the cure, so instead Blaine did his part in keeping the zombie virus from spreading. Ravi told him that utopium was one of the catalysts, and everyone knew that the biggest name in the drug dealing business was Stacey Boss.

Oh, how Blaine would love seeing that man behind bars. Guys like Boss thought they were untouchable because they controlled through fear. Blaine wanted nothing more than to prove them wrong, and eventually their false sense of invulnerability would cause them to make mistakes. _I'm willing to wait for it,_ Blaine thought, a smile playing on his lips.

A few days later the opportunity presented itself in the form of a newspaper headline. A couple stupid kids got it in their head that the utopium dealing business was a good one to get into; Stacey Boss disagreed. It probably wasn't the first time someone tried moving in on Boss's territory and paid the ferryman for it, but it _was_ the first time the media took notice. Skewed priorities aside, having these murders in ink would force the hand of the D. A. office to investigate. 

"Mister DeBeers." Floyd Baracus didn't look the least bit surprised to see Blaine step into his office. But just so there was no confusion, Blaine set the paper in front of his boss and pointed to the headline.

"I want the case."

"Of course you do. You're a damn fine lawyer, Blaine, but you do realize you have a better chance of taking down Walter White, don't you?" That threw him off, but Baracus kept going: "Here, I'll make this interesting: I'll bet you twenty dollars that you won't find a single person willing to testify against Stacey Boss. I bet that no matter what deal you try to give them, they'll keep their mouths shut."

Blaine's hands curled into fists, his expression fiercely defiant. He thought of the time he called the police on his father. He was convinced Angus had pushed his wife into another one of her episodes and, when the police arrived, told them what he knew and demanded to see a social worker. Blaine even thought for a moment they would believe him and take him and his mother away. But in the end, all he got for his efforts was lips that would never move quite right again.

"There will be someone," Blaine insisted. "Someone who will stand up to him, even knowing what could happen if they do. You will be giving me that twenty dollars, Floyd, and you'll be buying dinner, too. I'm thinking Chinese."

Blaine knew he could use Liv's special talents to help him with this, but he wanted to do it on his own. He made appointments with every criminal doing time who had even the most loose of connections with Boss. He offered them police protection, time cut off from their sentence, a transfer to a different prison, the chance of freedom the very next day with no parole officers dogging them... Hell, he would've taken them to a strip club and bought them a lap dance if he thought that would work. But no matter what he threw at their feet, they refused to accept it. 

He hated admitting it even to himself, but he was starting to get discouraged. These criminals actually preferred staying in jail for the rest of their lives over testifying against Stacey Boss. Blaine rubbed his fingers over his eyes. He was losing bargaining chips faster than he could think of them. There was a knock but he almost didn't want to look; he didn't want to see who was going to disappoint him this time.

"Excuse me, the woman at the front told me this is where you're interviewing past associates of Stacey Boss."

"Yeah." Blaine heaved a sigh, letting his hands drop. "Come on... in." His brain had shut off and just barely remembered the end of his sentence. Standing in the doorway was a beautiful woman with white-blonde hair that fell in gentle waves down to her shoulders. Her outfit was simple: a dark power suit and pencil skirt that flattered her long legs. It took a great deal of effort for Blaine to not follow the line of those legs down to the woman's heels.

The woman used the time Blaine sat gaping to cross the room and offer her hand. "I'm Jane Deaux. You must be the A. D. A."

"Uh." He numbly took her hand. This was ridiculous. True he wasn't currently seeing anyone, but Blaine had plenty of girlfriends in the past. Just because this woman was exuding a magnetic confidence and had a smile that set his heart racing... _Get a grip,_ he scolded himself. _You have a job to do._ Blaine focused on the files in front of him. "Right. Miss Deaux... Here you are. It says here that you were a dealer for Boss a few years ago, but your record's been clean since. In fact, you've since become a small business owner."

His heart sank and his eyes lifted helplessly back up to look at her. Jane sat with a little smile playing on her lips, as if she had a secret she couldn't wait to share. "So you have everything to lose by testifying, and there's really nothing I can offer you except..." Blaine knew he was about to grasp at the flimsiest straws in the business. "Except the peace of mind in knowing you've done the right thing and helped take a very dangerous criminal off the streets."

"Peace of mind." Jane sat back a little in her chair as she pondered this. "Well, you can't really put a price on that, can you?" She flashed that dazzling smile and leaned forward, her hands clasped in front of her. "I'll tell you everything I know about Boss and his organization. As for what you can offer, here _is_ something: grant me immunity for all the crimes I'm about to confess."

Blaine's face broke out into a grin. He could hardly believe she was agreeing. She had worked for Boss and knew exactly what he was capable of, yet she was willing to risk her business and the good name she established by doing this. Their eyes connected and Blaine felt a warm energy pass between them.

"Tell me, Miss Deaux: do you like Chinese food?"


	11. Call Me Maybe

Testifying against Stacey Boss took care of two problems: giving her some protection from the police and weakening Boss's hold on Seattle. Peyton assumed her mole would be leading the charge. A situation like this was exactly why she scratched the district attorney in the first place But when she arrived at the office, she was told some guy named DeBeers had taken the case. Annoying how Baracus would assign this to someone else, but she could work around it.

Peyton opened the door and paused, eyes taking in the man sitting at the desk. He wore a dark suit with a blue collared shirt underneath-- the blue, Peyton couldn't help noticing, brought out his eyes-- and a thin black tie. His blonde hair was swept up in a way that made it difficult to tell if he purposefully styled it that way or if that's how it looked when he rolled out of bed. Good-looking, too, and Peyton's lips twitched into a smile when he caught her staring at him.

She could see DeBeers struggling to find some way to convince her to help. She found his determination admirable and his offer endearing. When she agreed to help, his eyes lit up and he leaned forward eagerly.

"Tell me, Miss Deaux: do you like Chinese food?"

And that was how Peyton found herself in Blaine DeBeers's office, walking him through the complicated web that was Stacey Boss's organization. He connected lines and stuck photos to the board with enthusiasm. This was a man who not only knew he was doing the right thing, but enjoyed it. 

"So this is it," Blaine breathed out, stepping back so he could look at the board. "I can't wait to go to the mayor with this. Of course," he added, turning to Peyton, "you'll tell her that it was my savvy negotiating skills that convinced you."

"You exuded a power that compelled me to talk," Peyton told him, eyes glittering. "I was helpless to resist." A smile broke out across Blaine's lips and Peyton felt her heart skip a beat. There was an odd shape to his lips that somehow made the smile that much more charming. _Get a hold of yourself,_ Peyton mentally scolded. But if he flirted back, was it really such a bad thing?

The next few days after their meeting, Peyton worked very hard to keep her mind off Blaine. It surprised her that this was something that actually required effort. Men came and went in her life and she never had issues forgetting them. One meal of Chinese takeout with this guy somehow affected her more than any of those past lovers put together.

"I love what you've done with the place." She started, turning to see the man himself walking toward her. Blaine's eyes centered on her for a long while before flicking off to one side. "May I?" He was pointing to the organ.

"Sure." Peyton watched as Blaine set himself down on the bench and began playing the chords to _Amazing Grace_. She never thought she would find the sight of a man playing the organ sexy, but damn. "How did you learn to play like that?"

"I hung out in the music room at my school a lot," he explained. "The teacher gave me free lessons. So..." He tilted his head to look at her. "I stopped by to give you a head's up: Stacey Boss came by my office. I think he was mostly posturing, but I wanted to let you know. Be careful." Of course there was no reason for him to worry, but it was sweet. This guy had a good heart.

"Thank you, but you didn't have to come all this way for that. Here." She moved into her office, grabbing one of the business cards off the desk. "Take this," she offered, holding it out. "My cell is on the back. You can call me next time you're nervous about Stacey Boss." Their eyes met when Blaine took the card. There was a warmth in his gaze that surprised her. 

Blaine tucked the card in his pocket, bidding her goodbye and heading out the door. Peyton watched until the door closed behind him.

Don E ascended the stairs a few moments later. "Peyton, where've you been? We got a new shipment of Beyond U to send out."

"Right, sorry." She shook off thoughts of Blaine as best she could. She still had drugs to deal and brains to sell, after all. Peyton followed Don E down the stairs, glancing back only once to stare at the spot Blaine had occupied on the organ bench.


	12. Desire

"It's not that we're ungrateful for your help, Blaine," Ravi was saying, "but it's more complex than just utopium. We need tainted utopium, like the kind used at the boat party. Then we need to combine it at the proper ratio to the Max Rager drink and--"

"Okay, Bill Nye." Blaine held up a hand to stop the doctor from continuing. "I get the idea."

"Sorry." Ravi rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "Our cured patients are on a time limit and it's gotten me stressful. We don't know how long before they'll revert to their zombie state, and after that..." He didn't finish, but Blaine knew what came next: death.

"Even if it was just temporary, you still found a cure for a disease that didn't even exist a year ago," Blaine pointed out. "Your patients are in good hands." That got Ravi to smile, and Blaine clapped him on the back. "Take care of yourself, doc. This morgue's only big enough for one zombie."

"Hilarous," Ravi huffed dryly. "And what about you? Done anything for yourself lately?"

Blaine's mind inexplicably turned toward Jane Deaux. He thought of how she made him laugh, the way her hair brushed her neck when she tilted her head, her smile, the look in her eyes when she handed over her business card... That business card was burning a hole in his pants pocket at this very moment. He hadn't touched it since Jane handed it over, reasoning that out of sight would be out of mind. It wasn't working so far.

"No," he answered out loud. "I can't say I have."

Blaine couldn't deny he was attracted to Jane. Her looks, her confidence, her charm, her strength and bravery... There was nothing wrong with admiring her, he reasoned. Nothing wrong with thinking about her. Nothing wrong with enjoying her company or looking forward to the next time he saw her. 

The case against Boss was going very well thanks to her testimony. They still didn't have enough to go after Boss directly, but enough was being chipped away at his organization that it was only a matter of time before it crumbled. The mayor was so pleased with the results that she sent over a gift. Blaine couldn't wait for Jane to drop by so she could enjoy the city's appreciation.

"Wow." She turned the bottle over in her hand, looking impressed. "I'm glad she didn't go for the cliché of a key to the city."

"I was wondering," Blaine mused, plucked the bottle from Jane's hand and opening it, "if you would like to share a drink with me." He poured a small amount of the whiskey into a glass. Jane's lips curled into that smile he loved so much and she held up the glass.

"I'd hate to waste good whiskey." Blaine smiled, pouring himself a glass and clinking it against hers.

One drink. He only meant to share _one_ drink with her. But during that one drink Blaine asked what she did in her spare time and she mentioned watching old movies, which led into a discussion on Alfred Hitchcock. One topic led into another and before Blaine knew it, the sky was dark and they were relaxing on his couch. He had his jacket draped over his chair and Jane had kicked off her heels.

Blaine didn't even notice that they were drawing closer to each other. The pull to be near her felt so natural, he didn't even question it as the space between them grew smaller and smaller. The whiskey was warm inside him, but he didn't drink enough to impair his judgment. He knew what he was doing as he leaned into her. Jane's hand lifted, fingers playing with his hair. Blaine had no idea he even liked anyone playing with his hair until now.

"So this hair," she commented. "What do you use on it?"

"I just put a little gel on it and then it's out the door," he responded, leaning in a little closer.

"I don't know... I bet it takes a lot of effort to get this look."

"Well, we can't all be grown in a lab run by fourteen-year-old boys," Blaine retorted lightly. Jane's hand froze in his hair, her eyes widening a little and her breath catching. Blaine wondered if maybe he pushed it too far. Jane's eyes were flickering over him. Her lips were parted and Blaine was highly aware of his accelerated heartbeat.

Jane leaned into him, her lips brushing just below his earlobe. The thrill of that touch went all the way through him. He pulled back, pushing her hair off her neck and cupping her cheek, drawing her near again to meld their lips together in a kiss. Their lips fit perfectly against each other and he felt her respond immediately. Blaine dared to trace her lower lip with his tongue, catching a lingering taste of whiskey. Not that he needed any alcohol for his mind to be spinning; Jane's presence seemed to do that all on its own.

Blaine felt her hand on his chest, pressing against him. He leaned back until he settled horizontally on the couch, Jane hovering over him. Something about the way the dim lights in his office fell on her made her look even more beautiful. Both of her hands were on his chest, her skirt riding up her thigh as she settled on his hips.

 _This is a very bad idea,_ Blaine thought as his hands slid around her waist and made a slow journey up her back. _But I don't care._


	13. This is How a Heart Breaks

Any good lawyer would be annoyed seeing their client in handcuffs without their knowledge. But Blaine was more than just any good lawyer, and Jane Deaux was more than just a client. He hid his annoyance with a smirk and shooting her a look that he hoped would say, _A little soon in our relationship for you to be in handcuffs, isn't it?_ Judging by the coy smile she threw back, she got the message.

Detective Babineaux was none too pleased with the request to let Jane go and ushered Blaine out of the room.

"Look, I know she has a record, but the drug charge was from years ago," Blaine told him. "And besides, she has immunity. She's my star witness in a case I'm working on.

"Does she have immunity from this?" Babineaux pulled a few photos from a manila folder, handing them over to Blaine. He recognized them as ones from the Meat Cute shooting. He shrugged and handed the photos back.

"This case was closed. Your police chief died a hero, if I recall. What does this have to do with Miss Deaux, anyway?"

For answer, Babineaux pulled out another file, setting it next to the crime scene photos. "Look at this: the name Peyton written in blood on the wall. No one knew what to make of it at the time, but now there's this woman. We dug up her juvie record and found charges of theft, vandalism and underage drinking. All charges were dropped, but check out the name."

Blaine leaned forward, pulse spiking in anticipation of what he knew he would see. A younger Jane stared back, looking almost bored in the mug shot. He read the name they booked her under: Peyton Charles. Blaine took a step back to compose himself.

"You're still not building much of a case, detective. You said yourself this is her juvie record, and just having the name 'Peyton' isn't enough to charge her with anything."

"There's more," Babineaux promised him. Now he was pulling out three police sketches. There were some slight variations, but the overall look matched Jane-- or Peyton, rather. Blaine let out a sigh; he was starting to get a headache.

"Now what am I looking at?"

"A few months back, there was a body washed up on the lake with its head missing. We eventually identified the body as a teenage runaway. His last meal pointed us to Meat Cute, where _she_ was working." Blaine kept his expression blank but could feel a cold dread growing with every word the detective spoke. "This second sketch was done when Evan Moore described the woman who hired him as a delivery boy for Meat Cute the day before the shooting. He spent weeks in the hospital recovering from his injuries. Last there's this sketch done of the woman Agent Bozzio interviewed regarding Chaos Killer victims."

"Wait." Blaine held up his hand to stop the detective. "You think she's the Chaos Killer, too?"

"We like her for it," Babineaux admitted. "Four of the victims called her number in the past few weeks and witnesses point her leaving the office of another victim a few days before their disappearance."

"Too circumstantial. Either give me a solid piece of evidence or cut her loose." The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Babineaux sighed and took out the key for the handcuffs.

"Whatever happens next will be on your head, Blaine."

 _Yeah, I know._ Blaine wasted no time in heading off to find Liv. These pieces of evidence might've been circumstatial as far as the police was concerned, but Blaine knew more. Everything Liv told him about zombies was fitting together with this new information to form a very concerning narrative.

He had to know for sure. Blaine knocked on Liv's door. She answered, her expression surprised when she saw him. "Blaine, what are you doing here?" In answer, Blaine pulled up the mug shot of Jane-- _Peyton_ \-- he photographed onto his phone.

"Who is this?" he asked, showing Liv the picture. She leaned forward to get a better look, and the way her expression changed from confusion to horror was enough of an answer for him. Liv swallowed and told Blaine what he dreaded:

"That's Peyton Charles. She's the one who scratched me and turned me into a zombie. You know all those missing teenagers the police attributed to that husband and wife? _She's_ the one who kidnapped and killed them; she sold their brains to zombies that _she_ infected. It's because of her that Major is a zombie: she stabbed him and he would've died if I hadn't scratched him. And... you remember Lowell Tracey? She killed him. We had to call his death a suicide because he was a zombie."

Blaine took every blow without flinching, without a sound. He learned at a young age that trying to get away from the pain would only make the next attack hurt more. So he bore it, never letting on how much it hurt.

"Why are you asking?" Liv wondered.

"I thought she was someone else," Blaine told her with a bitter twist of his lip, "so I slept with her."

Of course he should have known better. He always ended up losing the ones who cared for him and in this case, she probably never cared at all. She was playing with him the whole time, manipulating with every look and touch. Liv offered him a drink and he gladly accepted. Blaine closed his eyes as the wine rolled along his tongue and down his throat. Song lyrics formed in his mind with the words he couldn't manage on his own.

_How does it feel to treat me like you do?  
When you've laid your hands upon me and told me who you are  
I thought I was mistaken, I thought I heard your words  
Tell me how do I feel? Tell me now, how do I feel?_

\-- -- -- --

Peyton felt a little giddy as she headed into the district attorney's office to meet with Blaine. She thought she knew what she was getting into when she set up this Stacey Boss take-down, but Blaine DeBeers caught her completely by surprise. The fact that he was confident, smart, charming and handsome would've been enough, but he also made her laugh and she felt comfortable around him. He made her feel like he saw her as more than a beautiful woman, which was honestly a rare feeling for her. Somehow they connected in a way that never happened to her before.

It took a long time for her to be admitted into his office and when she walked through the door, she felt an instant change of mood between them. He was sitting on the edge of his desk mixing a drink, and normally Peyton would thrill at his daring to drink during work hours, except something was off. He barely looked up when she entered the room and when he finally did acknowledge her, his blue eyes were like steel.

"I don't know what that detective told you, but..." She stopped, her focus turning back to the drink in his hand. He was garnishing the rim of the glass with wasabi, which was an extremely odd choice... unless one needed the extra spice. Peyton's good mood made a one-eighty as the implication set in. But no, she couldn't have reverted already. She _couldn't_ have turned him. She was struck by the horror of it, and the shock that the idea of turning him disturbed her.

"Are you feeling okay?"

"Oh, sure. I slept with my CI and will probably lose my job," Blaine snorted, now shaking hot sauce into the drink. "I'm just great."

"Now, wait a minute. Don't throw your job away because of me. What we had--" A knock stopped her from continuing.

"Sorry, I was expecting someone. Door's open." The door swung open and Liv Moore walked into the room, taking the drink Blaine handed over. Peyton could only gape, her whole body growing cold.

"You two know each other?" she asked weakly.

"Yep. Liv downloaded me on Team Z a while ago."

"No one calls it that," Liv scolded him, though there was an air of endearment in her tone. "Stop trying to make 'team Z' a thing." She spoke to Blaine like a friend...

"Peyton was saying something about what we had," Blaine confided. "Which was a mistake that I don't intend on repeating." There was a cold anger in his eyes that gave him a very dangerous look. It gave the impression he was capable of doing awful things, and it was only because of his choices that he didn't do them.

It would've attracted her to him more if that word didn't keep repeating in her head: _mistake_. She thought of how they easily connected over Chinese food, her listening as he played music on the organ, their laughter as they drank their way through the whiskey bottle, the way her head nestled perfectly on his shoulder and the feel of his beating heart under her hand... To him, all of it was a mistake.

But of course it was. That was how everyone in her life saw her. She was convinced her parents never even meant to get pregnant and, once it was too late, they certainly didn't want a girl. It had to be a mistake that she would be into Alfred Hitchcock and Jimmy Stewart, her friends insisted. She was one big walking mistake, and she'd been lying to herself when she thought Blaine was the person who might think otherwise.

"That's what I meant to say," she agreed, lifting her head to meet his gaze. She refused to let him see how much she was hurting. "This was nothing to me at all." She turned and walked out the door, feeling the break in her heart with every step.


	14. Lie to Me

Blaine couldn't sleep, and after staring at the ceiling for a good hour, he finally gave up entirely and slid out of bed. He didn't bother turning on any lights; he knew his way around the apartment in the dark. Blaine made his way into his office. But rather than burying himself in work, Blaine approached his electric keyboard. 

Blaine ran his fingers over the keys. The instrument was decades old but he couldn't bring himself to sell it. It was a birthday present from his mother, after all, and that sort of object was irreplaceable.

He plugged it in, needing the music to help release the emotions that still burdened him. It didn't take long for the appropriate song to surface in his mind. Blaine's fingers curled into position and he sang:

"But you didn't have to cut me off  
Make out like it never happened and that we were nothing  
And I don't even need your love  
But you treat me like a stranger and that feels so rough."

He was thinking about Peyton, of course. He should've been glad that their time together meant nothing to her. That was what he suspected, after all. Still, he couldn't believe she would go so far as to ghost him out. Though Blaine now knew her motivations for taking down Stacey Boss were selfish, they had still made progress against the crime lord. Was she really going to let the case crash and burn?

Blaine didn't care about the hour as he punched in her number. It rolled instantly to voice mail. He let out all his frustration in the message he left:

"Look, I don't know what you're trying to do here, but you need to call me back. The case against Stacey Boss is barely above water right now." He hung up, running his hand over his face.

According to Ravi, she had recently reverted back to a zombie. Maybe she was off making new clients for her business.

 _Now you're just somebody that I used to know._ That's how the song went, but Blaine didn't really know her at all.

\-- -- --

Peyton stood waiting to be let into Blaine's office. She wasn't sure if he would allow it after everything, but it seemed fair to come to him on his territory. Even if being in this office again did give her mixed feelings. She faced him, trying to freeze her heart against the ache that his presence caused.

"So what have you got on Stacey Boss?" Of course; he was all business now, his voice hard.

"Here's the thing..." A part of her hated what she was about to do. Peyton didn't like showing vulnerability. She always showed a front of strength even in the worst of circumstances. Yet somehow she felt she could do it with Blaine and he wouldn't think worse of her for it. "Stacey Boss sent a guy to Shady Plots. He dragged me out into the woods in my underwear and killed me."

Blaine froze at those words. She suspected that, thanks to his connection to Liv Moore, he alread knew she had reverted to being a zombie. But she bet he would never suspect he was the only one to learn _how_ she fully reverted.

"I need him to keep thinking I'm dead. That's why--" She paused as a coughing fit overcame her. It wasn't so bad now, but Ravi warned her it would get progressively worse over time. "That's why I can't testify any more."

"Was that..." Blaine frowned at her. "How long have you been a zombie again?"

"Wow, you really _are_ in the loop," Peyton marveled. "The doc says I still have a ways to go before I pass the point of no return."

"Ravi has another cure." She could see him struggling and, despite himself, looking concerned for her. Peyton tried not to think of it as more than just concern for the zombie population that would go without food once she was gone. "I bet he would give it to you if he knew the situation."

"He already did," Peyton assured him.

"So why haven't you taken it yet?"

"There are some things I wanted to take care of just in case it all goes horribly wrong." Her eyes traveled his face and body so she could have a clear picture of him in her mind. That whole thing of having your life flash before your eyes when you died was full of shit, but maybe this time she could have a nice thought.

"I came by to tell you something," Peyton continued. "I act tough, like nothing can hurt me. I had to learn it in order to survive. But in the end, I'm just a liar."

She wondered if he understood what she was saying. Blaine pursed his lips, tilting his head to the side. "Yeah," he sighed at last. "So am I." Their eyes met and Peyton felt like they understood each other, even though they were still lying by omission.

There was nothing else that needed to be said. Peyton left the office and headed back to Shady Plots. The syringe with Ravi's cure was in her desk waiting for her. Just as she hoped, Blaine's face floated to her mind when she closed her eyes before sliding the needle into her arm.


End file.
